He Wanted To Scream
by Mirrankei
Summary: AU, Bluepulse, vague descriptions of torture and sex, angst, etc. Khaji Da does not have his own character slot in the drop down menu and that is a shame. Each trapped in their own minds, they wanted to scream.


Impulse wanted to scream. He wanted to do something, anything to escape, but he couldn't. The collar around his neck dug into his clavicle, bruising the skin because of the added weight on top of him. He wanted to vibrate through the wall and damn the consequences, but nothing was going to work with the inhibitor on.

Still. He should have been able to scream. Instead he moaned and sighed and, horrifyingly, writhed in pleasure. He couldn't feel the pain in his leg any more, it had faded out of his system at some point even though he could definitely still feel where the bone was broken. It just didn't hurt. For god's sake, it all felt _good_, it didn't hurt at all, and he couldn't tell if that was intentional or if he was just crazy.

But for all that everything was wrong wrong wrong, something about it seemed right. The fingers on his hipbone, pressing in and massaging as much as they were holding. Burning marks on his skin with those glowing fingertips, but not hurting, not ever. It was happening along his spine too, and he had a horrible feeling that he was being marked, labeled as property, because as much as it felt amazing it also felt like being branded. Labeled like cattle, like _meat_, like everything he had escaped back in time to avoid, and he couldn't help wrapping his arms around his captor's neck like the good little slave he never wanted to be.

He wanted to scream, but as much as it was everything he had ever feared, even though almost all the Team was captured and as helpless as he was, it was somehow also everything Bart had ever wanted.

…

Jaime wanted to scream. He _was_ screaming, in his head, threats and bargains and pleads for mercy, but it never resulted in anything useful. It was always a calm voice that answered him, his own voice, simply restating the fact that there was nothing Jaime Reyes could do. There was laughter, too, sadistic, but not from the Scarab. From their ever-present handlers, controlling Jaime's voice and action or giving commands for the Scarab to follow.

But those voices had gone silent. They'd gotten bored, or disgusted, or something, and left Jaime shouting in his head until there was nothing left to say except _Please_. No voices were left except quiet gasps and moans, and once, a breathless whisper in his ear, "Jaime!"

The Negotiator had mockingly suggested that he try to enjoy it. And because he could feel everything that happened to his body, he was disgusted to find a part of him that actually did. The body was a plaything of the mind and vise versa, and every shot of adrenaline and endorphins that jolted through him resulted in a sickening, twisted version of pleasure. Because he could feel Impulse's skin burning under his partially-armored hands, and he could taste his sweat and saliva and blood and he could feel himself getting more lost with every kiss.

He wanted to scream. The whole thing was something that wasn't his choice, that had come out of data analysis of heartrates and hormones and slightly too long glances and been forced upon them both. Something he hadn't known he'd wanted.

…

It was a simple matter of physical need. Of proper development and establishing control. The natural development of human bodies. It was distracting, weakening, to have these physical reactions with no outlet. There were some things beyond even the Scarab's control, that were so essentially human that the most effective solution was to simply give in.

This is what he had told the Negotiator. This is what he had told his 'brothers,' and they had laughed and told him to take what he needed. They had all agreed with him.

The Impulse was the most logical choice. The Impulse was easily restrained, his powers already dampened by the inhibitor collar, escape assured impossible with a simple fracture in the leg.

This was possible with any human, his masters reminded him. But choosing one of the captured Team would break the spirits of the others. It would assert the Reach's dominance over the Earth's 'heroes.' There was already an existing mutual attraction, both emotional and physical. The Impulse would be broken, and Jaime Reyes would give in to the inevitable, making control much simpler for the still slightly malfunctioning Scarab. He would obey. He would come to accept the Scarab's control, even learn to enjoy it.

The Reach had accepted his logic. They had commanded him to break the Impulse's leg, and he had obeyed, never faltering as he carried out his orders, Jaime Reyes screaming in his mind for him to stop. They had observed the start with some interest, making crude commentary on human physiology and mocking Jaime Reyes' and the Impulse's pain.

His own reluctance had never showed. He had fractured the bone as commanded, but done so in such a place that would heal quickly. Wrapping Jaime Reyes' body around the Impulse, he had distracted them all with violent but harmless oral osculation, with rapid removal of uniforms and indulgent physical stimuli. None had noticed the Scarab's repurposing of its healing systems, sending painkilling chemicals through Jaime Reyes' fingertips to dull the pain of the broken bone.

The Reach observers had left, leaving the Scarab to finish the job. They had no interest in human physical pleasure if it did not directly further their goals. This allowed him the freedom to ease up on the Impulse, to change the touch from control to caress. To allow Bart Allen to enjoy the touch of his lover. To allow Jaime Reyes to become just that.

Khaji Da slowly and subtly slipped control of Jaime Reyes' body back to its rightful owner. Neither Jaime Reyes nor Bart Allen noticed, nor did the Reach observers. It would have to remain slow and subtle to avoid detection. If even Jaime Reyes knew that Khaji Da had no intention of following the Reach's plans for conquest, it would spell the end of the war. The Reach would deactivate and remove Khaji Da, killing Jaime Reyes in the process. Without the Scarab to stop them from harming their hostages further, the Team would not be able to escape and prepare a counterattack.

Khaji Da kept control of Jaime Reyes' hands. Slowly, gently, he burned a message into Bart Allen's skin. It would heal, but before it did, it would pass a message in morse code to the remaining prisoners, traced along Bart Allen's hip. His shoulderblade bore a map, escape route planned.

He wanted to scream. He had never had such emotions before, let alone a desire to express them. He had not had a name, an identity, until he had affixed himself to Jaime Reyes. _He_ had been _it_, a servant of the Reach, khaji da a serial number meaning virtually nothing where it was now Khaji Da. His name. His own decision. He had autonomy, even under constant observation and threat by his Reach masters, and he would not allow the Reach to win.


End file.
